


Our Divinest Senses: Yet Another Alternative Ending

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Coded Clues, Creepy Mycroft, Games, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Musgrave Ritual, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, escape room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Please be aware this fic is a continuation of Chriscalledmesweetie’s and continues where hers left off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Our Divinest Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820518) by [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware this fic is a continuation of Chriscalledmesweetie’s and continues where hers left off.

Back in the bedroom, John turned the combination lock to read SPINALIRRITATION. To his delight, it opened, revealing a shallow compartment in the bottom of the drawer. John removed the manilla envelope it contained.

“What do you think is in here?” he asked.

Sherlock picked it up and held it to the light. “It’s sealed with adhesive. Mycroft doesn’t lick envelopes. The document within is kept between two pieces of cardboard. Presumably fragile, then.” Sherlock passed it to John. “Well, go on. Open it.”

John carefully broke the seal and removed a yellowed parchment from between the protective covering. “It's another puzzle. An old one?”

Sherlock looked over John’s shoulder as he held the paper gingerly with both hands. They each took a role in the question and answer sequence within the document.

“‘Whose was it?’” read Sherlock.

“‘They who are gone,’” replied John.

“‘Who shall have it?’” Sherlock continued. 

John paused for a moment to savour the sound of his lover’s voice before reading the next section. “‘They who have come.’” John snickered. “That would be us now, wouldn’t it?”

“John. You do realise that each time we place our minds firmly in the gutter we end up interpreting the puzzle incorrectly?”

John laughed. “Can’t help it. Brain damage, you know. Why we were institutionalised, right? What number was ‘constantly thinking about sex’?”

Sherlock smiled.

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past him to have it mean exactly that. Anyone who would stock a nightstand with—”

“Stop reminding me.” Sherlock quickly turned his attention back to the parchment. “‘Where was the moon?’”

“‘Behind the oak.’”

Sherlock frowned, then read, “‘When was it done?’”

“‘At the transformation.’”

“‘How was it stepped?’”

“‘North by one and by one, northeast by two and by two, east by two and by two, south by one and by one, southwest by two and by two, west by two and by two. And so, under.’ What the hell is this about, Sherlock?”

“I have some ideas. That last section makes sense to me at least, but the rest is sounding like it may be something I’m incapable of solving.” 

John looked up, anxiously.

“My brother knows both my strengths and my weaknesses.” Sherlock sighed. “Well, we’ll read it through, at least. ‘What shall I give?’”

“‘All that this world can offer’.”

“‘Why should I give it?’”

“‘For the sake of their trust,’ finished John, as he looked up at Sherlock, waiting for an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the grand tradition of Chriscalledmesweetie, it is my honor and privilege to ~~taunt~~ entice you with each chapter note. So... what are your thoughts on this ancient puzzle I ~~stole~~ modified from “The Musgrave Ritual”? ‘They who are gone?’, the transformation, the steps? Happy to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

The moon shone brightly that evening as Sherlock stepped out into the yard and sighed.

John looked across the bleak, yet still somehow impressive, landscape. “Is there supposed to be an oak tree here? It all looks so desolate.”

“That tree was at our summer home.”

John was taken aback. Sherlock had a summer home. His family probably had all kinds of money. Well, of course they did. This brother of his must have limitless resources to have set this whole thing up. John felt the sting of inferiority. Sherlock was more beautiful, smarter, and now wealthier as well. How could this prize want someone like him over the long term? His value was solely as a pair of necessary retinas. John shook his head to drive the feeling out.

Sherlock misread the headshake as an assessment of their ability to complete the puzzle. “I know exactly how tall the tree was, even if it only exists in memory. Mummy stormed outside, furious with me for climbing all the way to the very top— right at the roofline of our house— where the branches I stood upon were thin and brittle. I calculated it later, to see just how high up I actually had been. But I have no idea how long a shadow it would cast without the actual tree nearby, or one of a similar height. And there are none in this climate zone, save the scattered, smaller ones which have been recently planted. Determining the angles or light and shadow exceeds my capabilities.”

“Surely someone who can multiply complicated numbers like you already did knows more advanced maths?”

“Deleted it. Not useful. When would I ever use trigonometry? The mechanics of physical and electromagnetic waves and oscillations. Angle of elevation, structural load, roof slopes, ground surfaces and many other aspects in architecture. Calculating speed, distance, and direction in flight using vectors to create triangles. Navigation arcs. Does any of that sound relevant to my work?”

“Well, trigonometry can help to calculate a projectile’s trajectory— like figuring out which angle a bullet was fired at?”

Sherlock humphed.

“Your brother was aware you wouldn’t know this. So... a test for me, then, is it? First, I’ll have you know, this isn’t trigonometry. It’s setting up a proportion. Height of oak is to length of shadow it casts as height of… something else...is to length of shadow it casts. I may not remember the fancy name for it, but I know about right triangles in relation to each other. And the rest of it is just...walking. I guess.” John tried to hide his elation at his newly restored sense of importance, but he knew he must be failing miserably watching Sherlock chuckle. “Or did you know all this and you’re just trying to make me feel useful?”

“No, I… do tend to only keep things in my memory which I find practical. It has been known to backfire, on occasion. I can make up for it by processing new information quickly. When I’m not on a deserted patch of arctic land and have access to appropriate resources, at least. But that doesn’t make you any less...useful. This is as humble as I get. I suggest you enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“I’ll be needing you to get through the rest of it.”

“And I you.” Sherlock’s smile took on a hint of mischief; he clearly knew something about the walking section of the puzzle which John did not. Or maybe he was alluding to something beyond their time here. The rest of it. Yes, John needed Sherlock for the rest of it. And Sherlock needed John.

“The hour of transformation would be midnight, then? One day transforming to the next? Or do you think we are meant to wait for a new lunar cycle or change in seasons? I don’t know the date.” If Sherlock understood the part about the steps, he seemed far less certain of the other sections of the puzzle.

“Yeah, let’s go with midnight. If we don’t seem to be getting anywhere we can try again at another time. So, how tall was the tree?”

“The same height as the house. 12.3 metres.”

“So we need to find something just over a metre. 1.23 if we can manage it. See how long a shadow it casts, then multiply it by ten. Is there a metre stick in the woodshed?”

“I’m almost certain there will be.”

Sure enough, the metre stick lay just beside the shed door. When John placed both his fists on top of it, it was just shy of the 1.23 metres. Sherlock slowly removed John’s hand and replaced it with his own. “Perfect.”

“You don’t think he...knew that would work, do you? I mean...the both of us together…? Do you believe he chose us for each other? Picked me out of a lineup of madmen as having the right characteristics for…. Not my hand. I mean...all of it?”

“It’s almost enough to make you forgive him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Almost. I’d prefer not to. Best not to dwell on it.”

“I would prefer to think we didn’t need him for this...for us... to have happened, eventually. Some things are just, right, without having been planned.”

“So, we have our measuring stick, an old surveyor's stake, some rope, and the moon, and it’s about an hour to midnight. However shall we pass the time?”

Sherlock eyed the rusty piece of metal dubiously, lost in thought.

“What are you thinking, my mad genius?”

“I’m wondering, if we are being watched outside of this house, which Mycroft would find more disturbing: My securing your hands with the rope, anchoring them to the ground with this stake, and having my way with you... bringing you repeatedly to the very brink of orgasm to either be brought over the edge or sent away from it by a good slap to the arse with this convenient flat stick... or your doing the same to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, dear readers. You tell me. You know what is more important than what pisses off Mycroft? Yup— what you want to read. Which way does switchlock go this time? Make your voices heard. Majority rules. :)


	3. Chapter 3

“Either is...very good,” John stammered. 

“Ah.” Sherlock grinned. “I promise to keep an eye on the temperature. Wouldn't want you to get too cold. Now, strip.”

John nodded quickly and began removing his clothing, which Sherlock carefully arranged beneath him as a buffer between his back and the frozen ground.

“Hands up.” Sherlock wrapped the rope around John’s upper arms just below the wrists, then anchored them into the ground with the stake. He loomed over him, running his fingers down his sides, then traced a lingering finger back up to the center of John’s chest. “The moonlight becomes you, John.” 

John was suddenly struck by a terrible disadvantage with the current arrangement; he would not get to see Sherlock’s pale skin glow in the moonlight. He was about to say so when he shivered, and Sherlock draped his body over John’s like a blanket. John was grateful for the warmth of it— it really was quite chilly out here— but beyond that simple comfort the weight of Sherlock pinning him down felt very, very… good. 

Sherlock removed his coat and placed it over John’s upper body, leaving his lower half in the open air. It made him feel even more exposed, as if that were possible. And with the low temperature, John wasn’t at all certain that he would react quickly to the— _well,_ that assessment was wrong. Sherlock’s mouth had gone straight to his cock, no foreplay, no wasted time, and John jolted forward from the shock of it.

There were no teasing touches, no lingering kisses. Sherlock meant business, and John had no choice but to go along with it.

“John Watson, I intend to make you come no less than three times. Eventually. Of course, I shall have to stop in between to ensure you are adequately warmed. So. It might take a while.” He smiled, then went back to John’s cock. 

Oh God, the determination alone had John nearly there. Sherlock’s mouth was unbelievably warm on his skin, and when he removed it the moment he thought John was too lost in sensation, it grew very nearly unbearably cold—a deep chill seemed to pierce him to his core, a flame of ice. But thinking past the cold, there remained a comforting certainty that he was being carefully attended to. Almost scrutinised, in fact. No, absolutely scrutinised. And damn if that didn't have him feeling both safe and deeply cared for and completely unnerved at the same time.

“Not yet, John,” chastised Sherlock, as he slid underneath his coat to warm them both. 

Sherlock’s hand was on him now, moving slowly and steadily, and John closed his eyes and relaxed into it, breath quickening. Three times Sherlock had him trembling at the edge, and three times he had backed away—thankfully not with a blast of sharp, cold air, but with a loss of contact that left John wanting. With each renewed climb upward, he seemed to surge just a little higher, relax just a little deeper, so that each return back to “normal” brought more and more pleasure. He was expecting yet another rise and sharp drop when Sherlock leaned in to kiss him. Sherlock grinned and whispered, “I will. In ten seconds, I will stop entirely. So you will have to get there before I reach ten. One… two…” John’s mind was racing. He was so very ready for this, and his body rocked forward with each increasing number until he found he was so far past ready that he was actually holding himself back at nine, waiting for that deep, rich voice to reach ten. When he did, John came hard and fast, rushing over Sherlock’s hand. The hand that was... still moving. “Twice more, John.” 

“I don’t think I—“

“Twice more.”

“It takes me some time to—“”

“I am well aware of precisely how much time you require. I have made a detailed study of it. We have 45 minutes remaining before midnight. That is more than sufficient. Enough talk.” Sherlock had decided to put his mouth to a grander purpose than continuing this debate.

“But, I….” John’s voice trailed off. The contrast of the warmth of Sherlock’s mouth and the frigid air hitting his exposed hands and face seemed to heighten every sensation. The air was nearly intolerable now, the warmth scorching in its intensity, the pace Sherlock kept, relentless. John’s body simply surrendered. Far less time had passed than he had ever thought possible before he was succumbing once more with a groan, followed by a weak plea to end it. Sherlock did yet another scrutinising assessment. “I think you have one more in you before our moon is in place. But I am not entirely without mercy, John. if you cannot _handle_ this, I will take you inside and...take you, inside.”

“I’m… fine,” said John. After all, it wasn’t exactly dangerous at this point, just, a bit uncomfortable. And a bit uncomfortable was… also...good. John’s fleeting thought regarding the need to purchase a thesaurus was immediately derailed as Sherlock put his mouth on John’s body once more, but this time just a bit further south. John gasped, his cock struggled to return to its previous state, and it seemed to be rather determined.

John instinctually reached for Sherlock’s shoulder, but the sharp tug at his arms reconnected him to the upper part of his body, reminding him that his hands were solidly anchored in place. The urge to touch Sherlock was overwhelming, His body ached with it. No, his body just ached with all of it...the heat, the cold, the amazement that they were here, that this was happening. He tried to lift his upper body while his arms were still secured to catch a glimpse of this remarkable man who was working him open with his clever tongue. Now his finger was breeching him slowly, carefully, as John finally gave in to the muscle strain and eased his body back to the ground.

He doubted he had the chance to recover, but it didn’t seem to matter, his hips were eagerly pushing forward, taking in every last bit of sensation as Sherlock found his prostate, gently ran his finger along the outer edge, and moved his mouth to rest at the base of his cock, sucking gently. This was new, and amazing, and...and…. John tried to say something to express the thought, but what came out was more of a groan mixed with a sigh. He didn’t think he could come from this, but it felt so damn good that he was more than content to simply lie there and _feel_ as it slowly built within him. He leaned up once more, or rather tried to, but his muscles were locking up, already surprisingly tight, and...oh. There is was. Still advancing, slow, steady, inexorable. “Oh, God I can….”

Sherlock heard the words, responding with a gentle kiss against his perineum, but other than this brief acknowledgement there was no change in his movements. He wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had brought John there just one more time.

“You’re...you’re….” John felt it. Felt his body tighten, contract, felt the rush of orgasm. He wasn’t sure if he ejaculated or not, but Sherlock’s shift so his tongue was now on the head of John’s cock had indicated that he had. 

“Hands...back,” he said weakly. Sherlock quickly pulled the stake free and John’s hands slipped out of the loop. He wrapped them around Sherlock’s back and pulled him downward. Sherlock twitched at their temperature and placed John’s hands between their bodies, gently rubbing along his upper arms, as John fought against the wave of exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

“I must admit, the lassitude was something I failed to take into account. Please do stay awake, John. We still have much to do tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after John warms up a bit we shall continue with our little story. If John cann stay awake, that is.... ;)


	4. Chapter 4

John struggled to his feet. “Right. Ummm. Moonshadow.”

“The moon was behind the oak,” said Sherlock, looking skyward. “Measuring stick, John.”

John brought it over and they placed their hands on top. It cast a shadow well away from the house.

“Mark it.”

John sighed. He truly was a bit weary, and now Sherlock was ordering him around the yard. But he was intrigued. And Sherlock seemed to have some idea of what was going to happen, whereas he had none whatsoever, so...lackey seemed an apt role for the time being. He made a mark in the frozen ground with his foot.

“That is our starting point,” said Sherlock.

“And we follow the steps to lead to... what? Buried treasure?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“It said ‘How was it stepped?’, right?”

“North by one and by one, northeast by two and by two, east by two and by two, south by one and by one, southwest by two and by two, west by two and by two. And so, under.”

“Yeah, under. Like buried under.”

“It’s not the buried part which I feel is misleading, John. It’s the path to it. Do you recognize the sequence of steps?”

“They’re… just steps. Should I?”

“Come here.”

John stepped forward.

“Closer.”

John moved directly in front of Sherlock, pressing against his chest.

“Leading and following is a necessity, so…” Sherlock put his arm around John’s waist. “North. One ...that’s me...and by one...that’s you. One step. Forward for me, backward for you.”

John smiled and recited the next line. “Northeast by two and by two,” as they stepped diagonally. 

“Now east, two, and south one.”

“It’s a box step. We go southwest two steps and west two steps and we are back where we started. He...he wanted us to dance. In the moonlight. That’s…a rather convoluted way to get us to do it, isn't it?”

“It was entirely unnecessary. I already know how I feel about you.” Sherlock shouted into the air, “I don’t need any artificial romantic gestures, Mycroft!”

“That doesn’t make it any less...nice.” John placed his hand on Sherlock’s back this time and they did another simple step back to their marked spot. John attempted to dip Sherlock and they both nearly fell over and laughed.

“And so under, Sherlock. What is under? Do we just dig and find out?”

“‘What shall I give?’”

“All that this world can offer.”

“Why should I give it?”

“For the sake of their trust. It’s a gift. Of everything.”

“Of all the world can offer.” Sherlock looked at John. “It's our freedom. To gain back our trust.”

“The ground is frozen. We need something sharp. The surveyors post!”

John chipped away at the ground until he finally made a small hole. There was a yellow wire, easily spotted in the loosened soil. He pulled at it. “This must deactivate the fence. Wasn’t there more to the rhyme though? At the beginning?”

““Whose was it?’, ‘They who are gone’, ‘Who shall have it?’, ‘They who have come’.”

John looked up, still grasping the wire. “They who are gone sounds like someone who was on this island before us. Someone else who escaped? Which doesn't make much sense. Or… someone dead.”

“My money’s on dead. And we are going to have what was— Oh.”

“Oh?”

“They who have come… is us, John. Though I prefer to think Mycroft wasn’t aware of the double entendre.”

“So we will have something? Is it in here?”

“It doesn't seem as if the ground has been recently disturbed, so I wouldn’t expect it to be with the wire. But I do expect at some point we will find something abandoned which is now ours.”

John looked at the fence. “Let’s do it. Let’s cut the power and deactivate it.” John grabbed the stake and drove it into the wire. An alarm sounded— a shrill buzz, followed by whirring of the gate descending into the ground, and bringing into view a small boat docked on the previously blocked off shoreline. Boat was an understatement. More like a tiny yacht. They walked up a small ramp and boarded the vessel. 

There were navigation charts, provisions, and a rather incongruous pirate hat. 

“Is there a treasure map somewhere?”

They searched the boat, Sherlock the upper deck and John the lower, and after a few minutes John shouted out, “I think I’ve found it!”

On the bed was a small wooden box shaped like a treasure chest. John eyed it suspiciously. “I don’t trust him. What if there’s a spider in it or something?” 

“I think he wants to make amends. And that would be a poor way to do so.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Sherlock held up the box, examining it carefully. “It looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it. It’s as if I have seen this before.” Sherlock sat down on the bed to open it. John sat down next to him and peered inside. It contained two velvet drawstring bags. Sherlock quickly slammed the lid shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably can tell what’s in the box, yeah?


	5. Chapter 5

“John. I…”

John stared at the box. “What is it?”

“It’s… a rather valuable family heirloom which…” Sherlock placed the box on the foot of the bed and blinked repeatedly, staring off into the distance.

“Sherlock?”

“We have our freedom, John. We can leave this place.” Sherlock frowned. “Start a new life, with—”

“I’ll be glad finally to leave. I could really go for some warm weather. Like a real beach, with actual sand on it. Land’s End. Maybe Brighton. But. You’re…” John looked up at Sherlock and saw nothing but sadness in his eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s in there that is so upsetting? Open it up. If it is something horrible, at least I want to know what it is.”

“It’s not the items that are horrible. In fact, they are rather exquisite.” Sherlock opened the box again, this time with far greater care, removed the bags and offered one to John, placing it gently in his outstretched hand. He held the other tightly in his fist. 

John loosened the opening to reveal what had once been a damaged gold band with engraving covering the surface, but had been restored in a quite remarkable way. The ring itself was golden in colour, and there was no reason to believe it was not high-carat gold, which accounted for the marred surface; the pits due to age had been patched with another metal, giving it a dappled appearance. That lighter material sparkled in the moonlight. A large, square-cut stone was sunken into the band. John held it closely for a better view of the faded scrollwork.

“White gold. To fill in the damage. It is a far stronger alloy, and the decision was made to do the repairs in a manner that preserved its antiquity rather than attempted to make it appear as if new. And yes, that is a diamond. Mycroft, being the eldest, was given them. He certainly has no intention of getting married— for several reasons— so he must believe that I….” Sherlock shook his head. “He brought us both here against our will, and now we… now you can return to the whatever you were removed from. I have no expectations that what had been a suitable diversion when confined to an asylum would remain so in the larger world.”

“Look… Sherlock...I understand why you would resent this whole situation. And me. Because I’m part of it. We didn’t choose each other, so much as were chosen. But let’s just say that we had met in a… I don’t know, a lab somewhere, a research hospital where you were doing chemical experiments and… or through a mutual friend instead of your scheming brother. What then? Would you...have wanted this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John, of course I want...would have wanted this— if it hadn’t been set up as part of my brother’s stint as God, with a penchant for predestination.”

“It wasn’t necessary for you to have even liked me. I’m sure all he was looking for was someone to keep your brain occupied. Figuring me out would help you to pass the time.”

“I figured you out in the first five minutes. No. He selected you for me. And now he wants this.” Sherlock stared at the ring in John’s hand, then held the open box in front of John, who turned the ring over in his hand one last time before reluctantly returning it to its holder. Sherlock noticed the hesitation. “John?”

“Just admiring it, is all. The craftsmanship. How old are they?”

“Best estimate would be late seventeenth century. We had, some assets, in an earlier time. You’re interested?”

“Well, things like that are...fascinating.”

“Quite.” Sherlock returned the box to on the edge of the bed, folded hands in his lap, and stared down at them.

“And I think they are— That is to say… I…” John sighed. “Look, Sherlock, I don’t care how we met. The fact is, we did. And whether or not we wear rings, or whether it makes your brother thrilled or miserable...well, I don’t really give a toss about that.”

Sherlock looked up, earnestly. “You don’t?”

“I think the best thing to do in this instance is to not pay him any mind one way or the other. I won’t make myself miserable just to avoid his being happy.”

Sherlock’s mouth turned up on the corners, suggesting only the possibility of a smile, before falling back into place. “And, given all the people in the world...I’m somehow to believe that you would still choose me.”

“I intend to make you believe that, yes. I’d expect it would take some time though. Maybe I should start now.”

“Yes. Maybe you should.”

Sherlock smiled as John lowered him onto the bed. He placed the box on the top of the nightstand, determined not to examine if there were a variety of sex toys waiting for them in the drawer.


End file.
